Like all right-thinking people in this great little country of ours, Samuel J. Snort Esq was shocked to the very core of his being by the single most astonishing revelation thrown up by that recent outbreak of theological handbags between the Catholic Church and the Church of Ireland.

"Walton" Empey?!? Jesus Marauding Christ, I always thought the man's name was Walter. Shocked? I haven't been so disorientated since I learned that, contrary to what I'd devoutly believed for years, there isn't in fact a Scottish football team called "Patrick" Thistle.

Walton? Huh?? What's that all about??Walton??? "Hell, Sam, that's a surname not a godamn christian name, har, har," as my good buddie Lance Turnpike, of southern-fried boogie meisters Foghat, quipped good-naturedly.

Anyway, once I got over the mild shock, I had a great laugh myself at the expense of the lads in dresses on both sides of our religious Old Firm. "CHRISTIAN HURTS CHRISTIAN" was the headline on the Irish Times editorial, and it made for the perfect start to the day as your corresondent devoured it at the breakfast table on the balcony along with two bloody marys, four grapefruits and six lines of king hell crank. I mean, what more uplifting news could your morning paper bring you, short of "TED 'THE FUCKIN' NUGE' NUGENT IN LINE FOR GRAMMY" or, I suppose, "HUGE DRUG CACHE NOT SEIZED OFF MUNSTER COAST"?

To make it even more entertaining, this little eruption of clerical fisticuffs came at a time when, according to various bug-eyed commentators, there was widespread celebration at the news that Dishy Des Connell was in line for "the red hat".

Right: that would explain all the bunting, street parties, and firework displays, not to mention the fact that 'Raspberry Beret' is getting played off the radio.

Complete Bolloxology

Meanwhile, the inter-church war of words which has left the whole country agog with indifference, has so upset the sensitive leader-writer in D'Olier Street that he or she feels impelled to note that "those of you who are old enough to have experienced the joyful uplift of ecumenical settlement which followed Vatican II, will be especially affected".

Yeah, and monkeys will fly outta Sam's butt.

Of course, this whole thing would at least have some modest amount of credibility if it was based in any kind of vague approximation of reality. Instead, the supposed "complexity" of the matter under dispute - a row about communion - is best understood by busy people who have more important things to be doing, such as you, my loyal reader, as being pretty much akin to a heated debate about whether Santa Claus lives at the north or south pole or whether the leprechauns at the bottom of your garden wear green or red shoes.

In short, it's complete bolloxology - a thoughtful conclusion, I'm sure you'll agree, and one which is in no way way undermined by the always astonishing fact that millions of people

apparently still have faith in this kind of

gibberish. Need I point out that millions of

people also believe in the aformentioned Mr Claus, millions more believe in astrology and there are even a goodly number of people

who don't believe Handsome Dick Manitoba exists at all - and yet no-one would expect any

of these issues to be splashed on the front pages of our leading prints. At least, not without some hot sex angle.

Speaking of which, the vast proliferation of poontang would seem to be just about the only reason left in the world to take up the religious life. That and the travel, of course. And the good grub. And the comfy pad with the housekeeper. And the nice car. And the fancy threads. That red hat? Not the kind you find in a second-hand store, rest assured. Never mind Prince; a prince of the church is something to be.

Mystic Bullshit

Still, despite all these groovy attractions, Samuel J. Snort Esq refuses to succumb to the lure of the spiritual life. And for why? Well, there are many and varied reasons, to do with personal and even political issues, like faith, free will, church v state etc. However, if I was to put my position in a nutshell, it would be as follows: because I'm not a fucking moron that's why.

This is why Sam has no truck with any of this mystic bullshit. Why would anyone in their right mind believe in a supreme being, life after death, guardian angels or any of the rest of that primitive, child-like voodoo, when it should be pretty clear to all right-thinking people that life really began on the planet billions of years ago when aliens from Alpha Centuri landed here and left us blueprints for everything from the wheel to the mobile phone.

I have proof of this, of course. The little pointy-headed visitors frequently turn up on the great back lawn of Snort Towers for further talks and sexual experiments. And it is on the back of their most recent visit that I must now urge readers to send me donations for the construction of a great runway and spaceport to built in the high Andes in time for their big Second Coming in 2022.

Now, ain't that a lot more exciting than a stupid little red hat?

Your ever-lovin' Samuel J. Snort Esq